Fortune
by InSilva
Summary: An AU oneshot set in "Body and Soul" verse. What might have happened to Rusty if he hadn't gone home with Saul. Warnings for inexplicit explicit contained within.


Fortune by InSilva

Disclaimer: not mine.

A/N: this was written a little while ago. 21 June to be exact.

Summary: An AU oneshot set in "Body and Soul" verse. What might have happened to Rusty if he hadn't gone home with Saul. Warnings for inexplicit explicit contained within.

* * *

Rusty came out of the shower and his cell phone was ringing.

"Rusty Ryan."

"Hi."

There was a pause and Rusty had already drawn his own conclusions. He didn't know the voice so first time and there was a hint of possibly first time too. Rich, though, to get his number. He looked down at his nails. Well, he'd better be rich. Rusty didn't get into bed for just anyone.

"You were recommended to me."

The voice sounded rich and it sounded _rich._ Dark and deep like chocolate tart. Mmm. Chocolate tart. With whipped cream. He was hungry. Maybe he could fit in dessert before-

"So how do we do this."

Rusty sighed without sound and came back to business. "You need a hotel room. What part of town are you calling from?"

The man told him.

"Hyatt Regency," Rusty said without hesitation. "The Goddard Suite."

The Goddard Suite was $1,000 a night. He was starting as he meant to go on.

"You need a bottle of the finest malt whisky and you need chocolate. Most of all, you need $1,500 in cash. You got all that?"

"I got all that." The voice was amused.

"Then you got yourself as much Rusty as you can handle. I'll be there at eight."

He snapped the phone shut and padded into his bedroom, opening up the walk-in closet. He felt like mulberry tonight. Mulberry silk shirt and grey suit. Rusty laid the clothes out on the king-size bed and padded back into the kitchen of the penthouse flat. First things first. Dessert.

* * *

The drive to the Hyatt was short but long enough for him to start idly thinking about the face that belonged to the voice. He'd sounded young. He'd sounded dark. He hadn't sounded short. He hadn't sounded ugly.

Not that it mattered. Looks never mattered. Money did.

* * *

The door to the Goddard Suite was opened by a good-looking, dark-haired young man of similar height. Rusty loved to be right.

"You're on time."

"I'm on your time," Rusty told him walking into the room.

"You want a drink?" the man asked, shutting the door.

Rusty picked up the bottle off the table and approved. "You listen."

"I do. Chocolate's on the side."

Rusty smiled. This might be fun. He sat down on the couch and let the man take the bottle from him, pour two glasses and hand him one. The man sat down on a chair opposite and sipped the malt.

"Do I call you Rusty?"

"You do. And what would you like me to call you?"

"Ishmael."

Rusty grinned. "Fair enough." He took a mouthful of whisky. "This your first time, right?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You don't look like you have to pay for it," he said with crude honesty.

"Well, you don't look like you need to provide it."

The grin grew wider. "We're both rich and good-looking. You are rich, aren't you?"

"Money's on the side with the chocolates. Truffles, if you're interested."

"Nice. You buy these for all your men?"

"You're my first, remember?"

"Oh, yes. I will spoil you for others."

"We'll see."

"So what brings you to seek me out? You said you had a recommendation?"

"Guy says you know him as Jerry Curtis. Told me I couldn't go through life without meeting you."

Jerry. One of his regulars.

"You work with him?"

"I'm a hotshot lawyer. I handled his divorce."

Rusty nodded. "Told you. I'll spoil you for others. So, lawyer? Making your way in the world?"

"Family already made it. But they wanted me educated and polished and moving in the right circles. What about you? This a career choice?"

Rusty thought briefly of the first year of soul-screaming and the second year when the howling had lessened and the third year when it had died away altogether. When he had realised he could use what God and Nature had given him.

He'd always had a plan to get out and he'd always meant to do just that and he didn't need the pity of anyone to achieve it. He'd worked as he'd never worked before and saved up the money and ditched MacAvoy and he'd come to the big city and set up on his own. He'd pushed away what he thought of as the squeamish and he'd concentrated on being the best he could be.

"Someone told me once I could make a fortune. So I thought I would."

The man stood up and took the glass from his hand. "You that good?"

Rusty stood up and held his gaze. "Let me show you."

* * *

They were in the bedroom and the man kissed him. On the lips. Briefly. Rusty stepped out of his clothes and the man stripped efficiently and business-like.

"What…" The man licked his lips. "What…"

Rusty grinned. "Let me show you."

* * *

Under the skill of Rusty's tongue, the man was hard almost at once and he came with satisfying speed.

"Wow," he blinked. "Wow. You're good."

Rusty wiped his fingers around the corner of his mouth and then he stroked the man's thigh.

"Lay back," he instructed and smiled at the man's eagerness. Handsome and willing to be taught and…Rusty's fingers were busy…yeah, hard again.

"I'm clean," the man said when Rusty produced the condoms and Rusty had just rolled his eyes. He set the rules. He was in charge.

* * *

He didn't disappear during sex. He didn't hide himself in patterns and keep himself separate from his body. The practical and the pragmatic had long since taken over and he concentrated on making the experience everything he could. And at times like this, when he was on top and riding Handsome with his dark chest curls and his strong fingers on Rusty's ass, at times like this, he could almost enjoy himself.

He gripped the man with his thighs and with the muscles inside him and he heard the groan of contentment from behind closed eyes and he smiled. Damn, he was good.

* * *

Later and they were dressed and he had pocketed the money and had picked up the truffles and the man was looking at him.

"What?"

"Thinking I'd look you up again."

"Yeah." He'd spent worse evenings. "I might let you do that."

"You say that to all your men?"

"You make me sound like a fucking whore."

"Well, you are a fucking whore."

The words hung in the air. And once they would have hurt. Once, a long time ago, they would have been his worst fear. Once, he had dreaded the very thought and everything it represented. Now? Now, he simply smiled.

"I'm a fucking _exceptional_ whore," Rusty told him and left.


End file.
